Breton

Sweat drips down the back of my neck.

I wasn't born to be a leader. Reading and memorizing maps is not my strong suit, which is why I question Mirabel insisting upon me leading the ride back to camp. Even if my bike doesn't choke, I'm guaranteed to lead us in the wrong direction.

Sighing, I pull on my helmet and tighten the strap. The metal buckle is cool against the underside of my chin. It centres me a little because it brings me back to reality. Truth be told, I have the trail system map memorized. What drives me to think in such a negative light is my anxiety. There's always a little voice saying, You're not good enough or You'll mess this up somehow.

Behind me, I hear three engines come to life. The buzz of their dirt bikes fills my ears and urges me to get a move on. My friends are waiting for me. I swing my leg over the seat of my dirt bike and distribute my weight. Shifting to one leg, I use the kick-start to start the engine. It takes a few aggressive kicks before the two-stroke engine putters and then roars to life.

I kick the kickstand back into its resting position, then release the clutch and take off down the main trail. Before hitting the rocky portion, I glance over my shoulder to make sure they're following me. Mira gives me a quick thumbs-up. Satisfied, I turn back to the trail and take a sharp left.

The initial drop of the trail is daunting. The downward motion alongside a cliff makes me uneasy, and the sheer rock face is just as terrifying. As are the jagged rocks, loose gravel, and spindly vegetation. But I keep my head low and my posture defined as I manoeuvre around the natural obstacles. We wouldn't be doing a double black diamond trail if we weren't confident in our skills. Skills aside, I still get nervous.

Turning around a sharp corner, the back tire of my dirt bike spits up a roost. I don't need to see it. I feel it in the way my tire lags a little through the teddy bear sand, almost knocking me off balance.

The ride down to the first resting zone makes my shoulders tense and my biceps burn. At the intersection, I stop and cut the engine, removing my helmet to wipe away the beads of sweat. They're snaking down my temples and coating the back of my neck. The sunshine doesn't help either. Despite it being the beginning of October, the heat has lingered around a little longer in the Okanagan.

One leg holds the weight of my dirt bike up and I rest my other food on the peg. Balancing my helmet on my knee, I glance over my shoulder, waiting for the others to arrive.

Although the four of us could keep up with each other, the spacing is done out of courtesy and safety. If someone were to wipe out, there would be less of a risk of someone being severely injured.

A couple of minutes tick by, and then I hear an engine creeping up on me. I watch as Hartley comes around the corner, skidding to a stop beside me. Silence follows, save for the sound of him removing his helmet. The buckle clanks against the helmet, which he hangs from his handlebars.

Resting his elbows on the handlebars, he runs his hands through his sweat hair and groans. "Fuck, man. That trail always rips apart my shoulder muscles."

"Maybe you need to bench press heavier weights," I joke.

He flips me the bird and parts his lips, ready to spit back another insult. However, he's interrupted by the sound of another engine.

This time, Elle joins us. She parks on the other side of me, parks, kills the engine, then tosses her helmet to the ground. It makes me cringe. Elle's never cared about the condition of her motocross gear. And whenever I tell her care will make her equipment last longer, she argues the point of it is to be roughed up. Which is exactly why she's had several more injuries than me. She's a bit of a daredevil.

"Did the trail tear up your muscles, too?" I ask her.

"No," she frowns. "Why would it?"

I give Hartley a look. "Somebody was whining about sore muscles."

Again, he flips me the bird.

Elle shakes her head. Tendrils of blonde hair are frizzy around her temples, and she tries to smooth them down with her gloved hands. "You two are hopeless."

Hartley cocks an eyebrow. "You're dragging yourself down, too, Elle." He jerks his chin at me. "You share half your DNA with him. Unfortunately."

"That's okay," Elle replies. "I know I inherited the good genes. Brett got everything else."

I shake my head, dipping my head down to hide the grin. Strands of hair tangle with my lashes. "Keep tellin' yourself that, sis. Maybe it'll manifest one day."

Elle knocks her front tire against mine. "Everyone likes me better."

"Except Mira," I tease.

Hartley wrinkles his nose. Blush spreads across his cheeks as he looks away, riddled with disgust. "Bro. Cut the innuendos. We may not be blood-related, but she's like my sister. I don't want to hear any of that shit."

"Seriously?" I ask. To add emphasis, I glance between him and Elle, a baffled expression present on my face. "You two were fucking around in the forest earlier. If you think Mira and I couldn't hear the dirty talk, you're mistaken, my friend."

He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushing. "Okay, that makes me sound like a hypocrite."

Glancing at Elle, I can see she's giving me a look. It's one that has instilled fear within me ever since we could speak. The first time it happened was when I stole her chocolate pudding. Whistling a low, innocent tune, I direct my gaze to the grandiose rock face along the trail. It's jagged and coloured with a mosaic of greens, greys, and browns. Weeds sprout from the cracks and hang, creating a waterfall effect. A dense mass of ponderosa pine and birch trees surround the area, making me wonder what could hide amongst them.

While Hartley and Elle chat, I try not to become antsy. But with every second that passes, my foot taps harder and faster against the foot peg. Almost six minutes have passed since I stopped and there's no sign of Mira's dirt bike. Because my mind is ridden with anxiety, it immediately goes to the worst scenario. It's not like Mira's arrival to be delayed. She's the best dirt biker in our group.

Looking over my shoulder at the trail behind us, I say, "Where do you think she is?"

Hartley shrugs. "Maybe she's having issues with her dirt bike. She'll be okay, man. Don't worry about her. Remember, we have a set rule. Ten minutes." Pulling back his glove, he glances at his watch. "We've got a few more minutes. It's only been six."

"She could be bleeding out."

They exchange a glance that makes me think they're judging me. Yeah, I have anxiety and I overthink and worry too much. So what? "Don't give me that look."

"Brett..." Elle's voice is gentle. "Mira's okay. She probably stopped to take a few photos. You know how much she loves this trail."

I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a deep breath. There's nothing worse than your twin sister being right. Mira loves to stop and take photos for her digital scrapbooks and Instagram posts. I don't understand her fascination with the views when we've seen them multiple times, but she always argues they take her breath away. And I will admit she takes some phenomenal photos. But I wish she would let us know when she's planning to. Leaving the uncertainty dangling in the air is not good for my mental health.

"Fine," I say. "Let's, hypothetically, assume you're correct. Then I'll put my foot in my mouth and chew on it. If—"

"Will you actually do that?" Hartley interrupts. "Because if you do, I need a video for future blackmail."

I ignore him. "If you're, hypothetically, wrong, and she is bleeding out, the blood is on your hands."

Elle rolls her eyes. "You're being ridiculous."

"Whatever," I scoff. "We worry about the people we love. It's natural."

Hartley reaches over and claps me on the back. The knuckles of his gloves send a pain shooting through my shoulder blade. His gloves have plastic integrated into them to protect his knuckles. And I may have given Mira my chest protector today because hers was broken. Prior to our ride, we got into an argument. She didn't want me riding without it. I didn't want her riding without it. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had her pinned against a tree and was forcing the thing over her head, which she let me do. She knew there was no changing my mind.

Mira can be friends with all the men she wants. I won't bat an eye. But with motocross safety, then I turn into an overprotective boyfriend monster.

"Dude," Hart says. "Take a few deep breaths. It's a natural reaction, yeah, but goddamn. You're making me sweat."

Using the hem of my jersey, I wipe the sweat from my forehead. "It's because the sun is hot," I murmur. While the sun has some lingering summer heat, I know the sweat is being caused by my anxiety. Mira is... reckless on the trails. Talented, but reckless. Sometimes, I worry about her, maybe even more than I should. It's not that I don't trust her abilities. What I don't trust is nature. A single rock could cause anyone to wipe out. Just like water can manipulate the trails, making them rutted and unstable.

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I lean over the handlebars, wondering where the fuck Mira is. My helmet balances precariously on my thigh. One boot is nestled in the mud, squelching with every subtle move I make. Hart and Elle continue to talk, their voices low. Not that I give a fuck about the topics they're discussing.

Several seconds tick by, and then I decide I can't do this anymore. I can't hear the engine echoing amongst the trees. Hearing that would ease my fears. But it's silent. I hear the wind and the birds and the squelching of mud.

But I don't fucking hear Mira.

Pulling on my helmet, I turn to Hart and Elle. "I'm going to find her. Mira's bike hasn't been having mechanical issues like mine. Something's happened to her."

Hartley grabs my forearm. "Dude. Don't. You know what this trail is like. It's hard enough meeting someone accidentally, let alone on purpose. She's probably trying to catch up as we speak. If she's going mock-one like you will..." He shakes his head. "Man. Just wait a little longer."

Shrugging him off, I get off of my dirt bike and turn it around. Now that it's facing the right direction, I start it up, revving the engine, and slowly release the clutch. The speed is slow at first, but once I've fully released it, I gun the machine. The engine roars in my ears. Through my blood. Wind batters the limited bare skin of my face and whips through my jersey.

I round corner after corner, climbing hills, avoiding rocks, and dipping through sharp divots. Every so often, I hit a rut and almost lost control. My attention is partially focused on the trail. All I can think about is Mira. If she's laying in a ditch somewhere...

After a sharp hairpin turn, there's a long straight stretch. During the straight stretch, I increase the speed a little more. Swaths of green, red, orange, and yellow whizz past me in a blur of autumn leaves and green bushes. Every so often, I see a pop of white from the trunk of a birch tree. At the end of the straight stretch, I ease my speed, noting how much denser and overgrown this part of the trail is. Whereas quad trails stay relatively maintained, dirt bikes are smaller and do less damage. Branches are sticking out, scratching the sides of my dirt bike and grabbing at my helmet and pants.

Rounding the last corner before an intersection, I catch a brief flash of turquoise.

My brain registers another dirt bike ahead, but the speed is too much.

There's a moment of surprise that reflects in her gaze and mine. I try to jerk the handlebars in the opposite direction, directing myself to the bushes lining the trail, but it's too late.

Our dirt bikes collide.

I feel the impact in my chest and then feel the cement-like greeting of the ground before everything goes black.